Between the Bars
by april93
Summary: Sequel to The Past and the Pending. Gale and Madge may have emerged victorious from the 74th annual Hunger Games but winning is only the first step. The physical scars may have healed but many run deeper.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.**

In the month since I had returned home, I came to realize something. Everything was different.

Home did not feel the same anymore. It felt strange and foreign as if all its familiarities had long since flown away, leaving in their place the hollow illusion of what had once been. My own home remained the same as always - large and imposing, the only warmth being in the kitchen - but even that felt different now. It felt tainted. I soon came to realize that it wasn't District Twelve that was different. It was me. I had changed since I had left, and now nothing seemed right.

Moving away from home was a strange experience. My father had helped me load my possessions into two battered suitcases, and together we walked the mile to the Victors' Village. The houses here were as large as my father's but they lacked life. They seemed stagnant and empty. The Capitol had paid some people from the Seam to come and clean the houses thoroughly prior to Gale and my move-in date. They had opened the windows and aired out all of the rooms, and paint had been smeared on all the walls, erasing the mildew that had grown there over decades of neglect. My suitcases and I safely delivered, my father had turned to leave, but I had grabbed his hand and he had paused.

"We're not that far away, Madge," he had reminded me, "and you are welcome anytime you want. It is still your home too." I had clung to his arm for a moment, and he had waited patiently for me to relax.

"I know, Dad," I said. Satisfied that I was going to be okay, he had pressed a tender kiss to my forehead and waved goodbye, leaving me in the too large, too empty house. I felt truly alone then, for the first time in my life. I was sixteen years old and no one wanted me anymore. Not my parents and not Gale. What was wrong with me?

Rationally, I knew that I was depressed. It was obvious, even if only to me. On the outside, I feigned indifference to people's distance. Why would I need company now when I had never outwardly wanted it before? Why would I want someone to comfort me and talk to me about what happened when most would have just wanted to forget? Someone who would ask if I was able to sleep through the night without waking up drenched in sweat and a scream still lingering in my throat?

When I was younger, I had marveled at my mother's ability to stay in bed all day when she was troubled with her then infrequent migraines. It had seemed unfathomable to me that someone would choose to spend their existence cooped up in a dark room under a mountain of blankets, but now I could see the appeal.

I spent the first fortnight in my new home cocooned in my bedroom, only leaving when absolutely necessary. My thoughts and I needed to be alone for a while; we had a lot to think about. However I soon grew resentful of my own desire to separate myself from the world. I may not have wanted to leave my room but I had to.

I soon settled into a careful routine. I spent my days like I had spent them before the Games – in solitude. I woke, alone, after an unsatisfying night's sleep, dressed and prepared my breakfast. Most mornings I couldn't eat, though I always prepared the food. it had become a sort of ritual- the cutting of bread and spreading of butter.

Mostly I sipped black coffee and nibbled on the crust of the bread that I had purchased the day before at the Mellarks' bakery and stared out of my sitting room window toward the circle of houses that made up the Victors' Village. Haymitch's house always sat dark and unwelcoming like it had since Haymitch had moved in twenty-five years ago. Weeds grew up around the base of the house and dead ivy hung around each window frame. Every morning, I made a mental note to remind him to get someone in to fix that up when I next met him, but I hadn't seen him in weeks.

The Hawthornes' house was the perfect antithesis to Haymitch's. Every morning, no matter how early I got up, I could see welcoming, buttery light spilling out of every window. The garden was neat, and there were even a few shrubs growing in the earth despite the fact that we were now facing into winter. Every morning at precisely eight-thirty I would watch as Gale's siblings, Rory, Vick and Posy, whose names I had come to learn, would leave the house together. Their mother would stand on the doorstep in her dressing gown and wave them off to school. Gale would sometimes walk with them, but I would find myself unable to watch those mornings, turning away from the window as soon as I saw his tall figure emerge from the door frame.

Gale's rejection still stung, made even more painful by his lack of attempts to make contact with me. I might as well not have existed in his own personal universe anymore. How could he forget so quickly what had passed between us? I certainly hadn't. The moments that we had shared together were forever imprinted in my mind, and no matter how much I tried, I could never forget the feel of his lips on mine or the comforting words he had whispered in my ears. He had promised to protect me, sworn that we would stay with each other forever. How was I meant to know that all that was lies?

The worst were the mornings that Katniss appeared with Gale and his siblings, obviously having spent the night or at least arriving earlier than I had risen. I tried not to let this bother me, she was his 'cousin' now after all, and it would not seem strange that she spent the night at his home. Whenever I thought too deeply on the topic, which was embarrassingly often, I felt my cheeks burn with shame. I sounded like a clingy-ex that the girls in school had often bemoaned. They used to throw around words like "creep" or "stalker" and at worst, "obsessed". I didn't want to be one of those girls, so blinded by my misguided love that I read too far into everything, but sometimes I couldn't help it.

Katniss had been acting different toward me too since my return, a fact that hurt me more than I would've thought, especially since I had already guessed at Gale's feeling toward her. We had been friends before the Games; well, at least I thought we had. I had assumed that she would at least want to know about what had happened between Gale and me in the Games, but she never asked. Now, our exchanges were limited to that of polite nods and tense smiles when we met on the road - her heading toward the Victors' Village to visit the Hawthornes and me toward Town. Could she sense that I was tainted now? A killer after the Games?

After my coffee, I would go for a walk, generally toward Town and visit my old home. It was a nostalgic thing mostly, considering my dad was at work, my mother in bed and the cook busy with one task or another. I would sit in our parlor and play the piano softly so as not to disturb my mother. My fingers would run over the keys, bringing my heartache and nightmares into manifestation. I felt at peace then, these stolen moments where I could forget that everything was changed and I was no longer the Victor, simply Madge, the Mayor's daughter, quiet, unassuming and impossibly innocent.

On my walk home, I would stop into the grocers and buy something for dinner that night. Then I would stop in the Mellarks' bakery. Stepping into the warm, bread filled room was always a pleasant change from the cold, sooty air outside. One of the baker's sons, Peeta, the youngest and one that I knew the best, would smile and say hello before wrapping up my usual order. I was careful here, like in the grocery, to give him more than the bread was worth and then shake my head when he moved to return it. As the Mayor's daughter I had never worried about money, but the money I had was never mine. Now that I had access to my own funds, I did not hesitate to give generously to those around me. They needed it more than I did.

My evenings, I spent in my house, the wood that was delivered to my house each week stacked in the fire and lit. I would sit on the couch, wrapped in a warm blanket reading a book about a faraway time, before the dark days when things were simpler and there was no such thing as the Hunger Games.

I closed my book with a snap when I heard a knock on my front door. Why would anyone be at my door? It was cold and the first snowfall of the winter had occurred the night before, covering District Twelve in a fluffy white blanket. It made everything look beautiful, but no one in their right mind would trek the mile from town out to the Victors' Village in such adverse conditions. I walked to the door and opened it.

A boy stood on the other side of the house, his nose red and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his warm coat. It was the elder of Gale's two brothers, Rory.

"Hello," I said, unsure of what he was doing here. Like Gale, the Hawthornes had kept their distance from me mostly, though Mrs. Hawthorne had once extended an offer to come over for coffee. I had declined on the grounds that I had arranged to meet my father that evening for dinner, and she had never offered again. I had assumed that Gale had ordered them to stay away from me.

"Can I come in?" the boy asked, and I moved from where I stood, unconsciously blocking the entrance. I closed the door behind him and followed him into the sitting room, where he was looking around curiously.

"This is weird," he said. "Your house is exactly like ours." I looked around at the plain sitting room, empty save for the couch and a small bookshelf that I had set up beside the fire. I doubted that the Hawthornes' sitting room was as bleak as this. It was no doubt full of life and the sort of warmth that only family and good company could provide.

"I guess so." I said despite my belief, "They were all built from the same plan I suppose." I watched the boy and couldn't help but think that Rory looked so much like Gale that it hurt. He had the same dark hair and square jaw and even the same serious eyes as his older brother. Rory was practically his brother's double, give or take a few years.

"My mom said that I should come over and check that you were okay," he said, sitting down on the couch and extending his hands toward the flame. "She said that she wasn't sure if you had enough wood and stuff."

"That was kind of her," I answered, more than touched at the gesture but trying not to show how much it meant to me. "I've got more than enough wood. It was delivered yesterday before it snowed."

"Okay, then," Rory said, standing up and moving toward the door. Suddenly the thought of spending the evening alone seemed too much. I wanted some company, and Rory seemed like the best option.

"Can I get you a cup of tea?" I asked him, hoping that the desperation in my voice escaped him, and he turned to me, surprised. "I got some cheese buns from the bakery earlier today." Rory's eyes lit up and I was reminded again of Gale. I tried to shake off this association. Rory was not his brother; he was a person in his own right and didn't deserve to be seen as an object associated with Gale. Besides, I couldn't take the comparison for a moment longer. I hadn't seen Gale this close since our final public dinner in my father's house the week after we returned from the Capitol.

"Yeah!" Rory said and then cleared his throat which caused his voice to lower. "I mean, yes please, if you don't mind." "They're my favorite. Can I call my mom and let her know that I haven't died in the snow?"

I laughed at his enthusiasm, the sound strange and unfamiliar to this new brooding me. "Sure," I said, gesturing toward the phone on the small table by the door. It was coated in a thin film of dust; I had never used it. Who would I call? I guess maybe my parents but I visited them every day, we never had anything to discuss that couldn't wait twenty-four hours. Rory scurried into the hallway and began dialing.

I made my way to the kitchen and filled the kettle with water from the tap. I laid it on top of the hob and began unwrapping the cheese buns from the grease-proof paper that Peeta had wrapped them in earlier in the day. Rory joined me at the counter before the kettle was done boiling.

"She said that she's glad you're okay and that I could stay as long as I wanted." I smiled at him and offered him one of the cheese buns which he took eagerly.

"Have one now and then you can have another with your tea," I said, and Rory beamed at me, telling me that at home his mother only let him have one. Maybe that was where I had gone wrong with Gale. Good food might really be the key to all boys' hearts…

With cups of teas warming our palms, Rory and I sat on the couch in the sitting room and settled into a not all together uncomfortable silence, both of us content to simply sip our tea.

"Madge," Rory asked after a time, "why are you living here all alone?" I grimaced and Rory, obviously seeing my expression, proceeded to backtrack like his life depended on it. "I mean, why didn't your mom come up here with you? I know that your dad probably has to stay at the Mayor's house but why didn't she come?" I smiled at him. He might look older than his age, but he was surprisingly naïve.

"She's sick. She needs to stay at home so that the people there can look after her." Rory nodded seriously, his brow furrowed.

"But aren't you lonely here?" he asked, watching me carefully. I shrugged.

"I guess so, but I won't force my company on anyone if they don't want it," I said, thinking back to the night on the train before we reached District Twelve. No, I would not go where I was not wanted.

"You should come over and visit us," Rory suggested as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm sure Gale would like to see you after…" He trailed off obviously realizing what he had just said was at best a little odd and at worst a complete lie. Why would Gale want to see the girl that reminded him more than anyone else of the horror that he had to live through?

"I don't think he would," I said with a smile and took a sip of tea to hide my emotions.

"No," Rory said, now pretty sure in his conviction. "You're friends. You must be after the Games. Besides, I know that Posy wants to meet you. She keeps asking Mom if she come over here and play. She says that she wants to see you in real life." I smiled at this. Posy was a cute child, and if she was anything like Rory, I was sure that she was just as sweet as she looked.

"Why don't you, Posy and Vick come over here after school tomorrow for a visit?" I suggested, surprising even myself at my offer. "We could bake, make some cheese buns ourselves." Rory nodded eagerly, completely missing the fact that I had declined his offer to go to his home. I didn't want to bump into Gale, and I'm sure that I was the last person he wanted to see too.

"That sounds fun," he said. "They'll definitely want to come." He stood up then and took our empty cups to the kitchen and rinsed them out. When he returned, he looked apologetic.

"I should probably go now," he said. "Gale said that he wanted to check my homework." He scrunched his face into a ball as if the concept completely repulsed him.

"I hate homework," he said with a sigh.

"I did too," I agreed, and he looked surprised.

"Really?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, especially math."

"Me too!" Rory exclaimed. I waved goodbye to him and watched him scamper across the snowy gap between our two houses.

When he was gone, I reflected on our evening together. It had been strange but not forced, almost natural as if we had done it many times before. It had been so long since I had spent an evening talking to someone, even if that someone was a thirteen-year-old boy. I found myself already looking forward to tomorrow evening, and tearing a page from my notebook I began preparing a list of what I would require to make Rory's favorite cheese buns.

_Thank you everybody for reading the first chapter. I know not a lot happened but I do think that this was necessary. The scene needed to be set. _

_Huge thanks to Project Team Beta for their help. Those guys are great._

_Review and let me know what you think. 3 _


	2. Chapter 2

The following evening came faster than I would've expected, but it wasn't an unwelcome change. Since I'd returned home, the days had seemed to crawl by at a fraction of their usual pace. I was so tired of waking up only to find myself wishing that it was time to return to bed again and sink into oblivion, even if it was only for a couple of hours.

Nervously, I lined up the flour and sugar on the counter, straightening the bags until the edges were perfectly in line. There was a knock on the door, and I jumped, still unused to the noise. My parents preferred that I visit them at their house, and I had no other visitors.

I opened the door and in front of me stood one eager face, and two nervous ones.

"Hi, Madge," Rory said, brushing past me with a canvas bag in his hand. Posy and Vick stood in the door way, their eyes wide as they peered up at me from under their woolly hats.

"Do you want to come in?" I asked them gently, scared that I would cause them to startle and scamper like a pair of frightened rabbits. They looked at each other and a silent conversation seemed to take place, if Vick's bulging eyes and Posy's pleading expression said anything. They both turned back to me and nodded in unison.

An hour later, the two silent children who had stood in my doorway were forgotten and had been replaced by two chatty, boisterous children who were all too eager to tell me about what they had learned at school that day and who had beaten up whom when they had played hide and seek last night.

"I knew where you were hiding!" Vick argued as he licked some of the dough from his fingers. "Gale told me that I should let you win because you were a baby." Posy frowned, indignant and with her hands on her hips, looking so very much like her mother.

"That's not true. Gale told me that you were just bad at the game!" It was odd to hear about Gale from the point of view of his siblings. In our time apart, I had built him into a completely new person, one who was cold and unfeeling. I realized now that I was wrong. My defence mechanism of imagining him as someone unlike the Gale I knew was failing. I didn't know if I would ever be able to go back to that image of him.

"Posy, you were hiding behind the kitchen door," Rory pointed out, waving his rolling pin in Posy's general direction, where she stood on a chair so she could reach the dough. "Vick and I saw you ages before we 'found' you!" Rory said. Posy pouted at her brothers, and I could see that she was on the brink of tears. Pulling my hands away from the bowl of dough, I leaned towards Posy.

"Ignore them," I whispered. She looked up at me, her gray eyes serious.

"It was a great hiding place. They did not see me!" Posy argued but I shushed her.

"I know, I know. Do you want to get revenge on them?" I asked, reaching for the flour bag. Posy nodded eagerly and reached into the bag. Raising her small fist, she flung a handful of the white powder at Rory, covering him in a generous dusting of white.

Vick, Posy and I roared in laughter while Rory spluttered. He snatched the bag of flour from my hands and dipped his fist inside.

"Whose idea was it to throw flour at me?" he asked, his expression serious, but his eyes dancing with mirth. Posy and Vick both pointed at me. Traitors. Rory flung a fistful of flour which caught me right in my face. I coughed and tried to wipe it out of my eyes. Searching blindly, I found an egg and tossed it at Vick.

"Hey!" he squealed, covered in the gooey egg. "What was that for?"

"I didn't want you to feel left out," I answered as sweetly as I could. Soon the kitchen had turned into an all-out warzone. For a finish, Posy and I sheltered under the kitchen table while Vick and Rory battled it out to see who would be the overall winner of our unofficial contest.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Posy whispered to me, her hands cupped over my ear. I nodded.

"Gale didn't want us to come over," she said, her breath warm and ticklish against my ear. Her remark hurt, but I was not surprised. If Gale didn't want me around him, then why would he want me around his siblings? He had seen the footage of the Games. He had seen me kill Cato and Clove. He had seen me trick Cato by kissing him and then stabbing him straight through the heart before shoving him into the river. Behavior like that wouldn't make me anyone's number one choice for a babysitter.

"Why didn't he want us to come over?" Posy asked. "He likes you. He kissed you when you were in the forest." She crawled onto my lap, and my heart ached at Posy's simplistic explanation. I wish that everyone saw the world the way she did. Kissing equates to liking someone, maybe even loving them. Simple. But why on earth did it have to be so complicated out here in the real world?

"Posy," I said, taking her small, birdlike hands in between mine. "Gale and I are friends, but we don't really know how to be each other's friend at the moment." Posy tilted her head to the side, reminding me of the puppy I had had when I was younger.

"How come? Why don't you just hug? That's what Mom always makes us do if we have a fight ." She stared up at me with her unblinking gray eyes, and I swear in that second that I wanted to be five again and see the world from her point of view: a world where a hug solved everything.

Instead of answering, I just pulled her to me and wrapped her up in a hug, which she returned with even more enthusiasm.

The Hawthornes left a few hours later in a flurry of hugs and promises to come over again tomorrow. I closed the door behind them and flung myself down on the couch. This had been the most human contact I had had in a long time, longer than I could remember if I was being fully honest with myself. It had felt so nice just to relax in the company of someone other than myself, even if that someone happened to be three excitable children.

I picked up my book from where I had left it the evening before, after Rory's visit and opened it. I attempted to read a couple of paragraphs. I couldn't concentrate. I realised that I felt happier than I had since – since I didn't know when. Before the Games, maybe? No, that was a lie. Since I had thought Gale and I were a couple. It was clear to me now that I had been wrong to keep myself away from other people since I returned to District Twelve. I had fretted over the fact that people were keeping themselves separate from me, but I had not made it easy for anyone to approach me. I had spent so much of my time hiding out in either my house or my parent's that when I emerged, I did not know what to do if I met someone that I had known before the Games. If I wanted to talk to someone, I didn't have to wait for them to initiate it.

Closing my book and making my way upstairs for bed, I resolved to try and leave the house tomorrow and initiate a conversation with someone- just one person- and we would see where things went from there.

The next day I set out to walk to my parent's house in my scarf, hat, and warm, neatly buttoned wool coat. I set off down the path and practiced what I would say if I crossed paths with an acquaintance. "Good morning" seemed like an appropriate phrase, but I worried that it sounded too stiff. "Hi" seemed a little too informal. There were just too many choices. How could I decide? I was out of practice.

Ahead of me, walking towards the Victor's Village I could see a tall figure, wrapped up warm under a faded black jacket. Instantly I recognized the smooth hunter's gait and, before I knew what was happening, I found myself turning around and walking briskly back towards my house. I had lost my courage, and all it had taken was a brief sighting of Gale Hawthorne. If it was anyone else, I think I could've done it- taken the first step in my self-appointed recovery plan- but not him.

Gale had obviously seen me backtrack, and I was embarrassed that he had watched me run away like the coward I surely was. The word "obsessed" floated through my mind again like a ghost, and I shivered. I would not allow him to watch me return to my home with my tail between my legs. Taking a deep breath, I purposefully strode to Haymitch's , rapping on the door three times in quick succession. No answer. I huffed, annoyed that I was standing on his porch in the freezing cold under the watchful eye of Gale. I knocked again.

No answer.

Growing more frustrated by the second I reached forward and jerked the handle of the door. Unsurprisingly, the door opened straightaway, and I peeked my head around it.

"Hello!" I called as loudly as I dared. "Haymitch, it's me, Madge." There was no answer and, growing concerned for Haymitch's well-being, I stepped inside the house and closed the door behind me, venturing into the unknown. The house smelt stale, like mold and smelly socks. I scrunched my nose and tried to breathe through my mouth. Despite my precautions the foul taste invaded my mouth after my first breath, and I soon lapsed into a coughing fit.

"Who's there?" a voice shouted, and I swallowed so as to soothe my burning throat.

"It's Madge," I answered, "Madge Undersee." There was a loud groan, and Haymitch Abernathy appeared at the top of the stairs. I gasped when I saw him, dressed in only a greasy, stained undershirt and a pair of wrinkled trousers. His hair was long and dirty. His face creased as if he had only just woken up. In his hand, he held a clear bottle containing a few mouthfuls of that foul white liquor.

"What do you want?" he demanded, his voice rough. I shook my head, lost for words temporarily. He banged down the stairs, each footfall an apparent effort.

"I was out of tea bags?" I suggested lamely. I knew that Haymitch wouldn't like the thought of me using him as a scapegoat to hide from Gale, and I knew that he would like it even less if I said that I wanted to check up on him. To my surprise, Haymitch laughed and slung a heavy arm over my shoulder; he brought me to his kitchen. I started in horror as Haymitch removed his arm from my shoulders and walked over to one of the cupboards.

The kitchen was disgusting, used pots and pans stacked haphazardly on the countertop and dirty plates piled high in the sink. The floor was sticky and unwashed.

"Haymitch!" I admonished. "How can you even-" I broke off and looked around the room again. "I'm going to clean your kitchen for you." The minute I had spoken the thought out loud I immediately set to organizing my plan of attack. Cleaning had always been a soothing pass time for me. Setting something back to its original state seemed like a nice idea. More so now that I knew that you couldn't fix everything. Haymitch looked at me, his eyebrow raised as he knocked back another mouthful of his liquor.

"Knock yourself out, sweetheart."

Knock myself out I did. After taping a note to my front door to let Rory, Vick and Posy know where I was, I returned to Haymitch's with my mop and a variety of cleaning products. I settled into the task straightaway, only half listening to Haymitch's suggestions from where he sat on his couch. I scrubbed and washed and rinsed until it seemed that there was nothing left to do. I pulled back all of the heavy curtains so that the weak November sunlight streamed into Haymitch's kitchen, and I opened the windows so that fresh air could circulate the room and hopefully get rid of the horrendous odor that had seemed to settle on the place since Haymitch had moved in.

"Could you get that?" Haymitch demanded from his spot on the couch. I wiped some sweat from my brow and nodded. Walking into the hall, I wiped my hands on my trousers and moved to put my hand on the doorknob but whoever was on the other side of the door chose that exact moment to fling it open, knocking me to the ground and causing the world to go dark.

_Huge props to_ Project Team Beta _for all their help with this chapter._

_Thank you everyone for all the views to chapter one of this sequel. I really appreciate it. Well, I hope that everyone enjoyed the second chapter. I know that things are off to a slow start but I feel that it is necessary. Let me know what you think in a review. _


	3. Chapter 3

"Is she going to die like Daddy?" a high-pitched voice asked, laced with worry.

"Of course not, Posy," another voice answered confidently. "People don't die from walking into doors."

"But she _didn't_ walk into a door," the first voice answered. "The door walked into her!" Someone giggled and was quickly shushed. My head ached. What had happened? Slowly, I opened my eyes and found myself staring at a ceiling.

"She's awake!" cried a voice, and I turned my head to see Posy Hawthorne running out of the room.

"Told you she wasn't dead!" said the other voice, and I saw Vick standing beside me. I moved to sit up but Mrs. Hawthorne had walked into the room, Posy trailing behind her, and pressed me back down gently using her hand.

"You should stay lying down awhile, sweetie," she said. "There was a little bit of an accident at Haymitch's." Haymitch's? Oh, yes. I had been cleaning his kitchen. Had I slipped on the freshly mopped floor and hit my head on the edge of the counter, knocking myself out? No, I didn't think that was it. The memory of walking towards the door and colliding with it as it opened came back to me and I winced. Raising my hand I felt around my forehead for the gash that I knew would be there. Sure enough I felt a bandage covering the left side of my forehead.

"Rory's gone to get Katniss' mother and she can stitch it up for you," Mrs Hawthorne said with a warm smile, though her expression changed quickly at my expression. "Or we can get your own doctor if you'd prefer that?" I shook my head and instantly regretted the action as pain coursed through my body.

"No, it's not that. It's just that I've never had stitches before." Mrs Hawthorne reached out and patted my shoulder comfortingly.

"You've been through worse. Besides, stitches don't hurt that much and you're lucky. There's plenty of snow around at the minute so we can numb your forehead first." I nodded gratefully, which caused me to wince again.

"Can we get you anything?" she asked, reaching down to straighten the blanket that someone had hastily thrown over me. I considered her offer for a moment.

"Could I have a glass of water please?" I asked hoarsely. Mrs Hawthorne nodded.

"Gale!" she shouted. "Get Madge a glass of water!" I felt what little blood was in my face drain. Gale? Gale was here? Mrs Hawthorne stood.

"Come on Vick, you've got homework to do," she said, and Vick groaned before following her out of the room. I heard the tap run in the kitchen, and knowing that Gale was about to burst into the sitting room at any second, no doubt a disdainful look on his face, I attempted to school my features into indifference, which is surprisingly difficult when lying on a couch, with a huge plaster covering your forehead. Heavy boots tapped against wooden floor boards as he approached and I froze.

"Here," he said, as he handed the water to me. I took it and eased myself into a sitting position despite Mrs Hawthorne's earlier orders. Raising the glass to my lips I tried to avoid looking at him, knowing that if I did that I would find myself in deeper trouble than I wanted for myself.

"Thank you," I said and he nodded.

"You're welcome." Gale nodded. We were playing it safe, the two of us. He too must have realised that he couldn't avoid me forever, considering our close living proximities. These houses in the Victor's Village would be our homes until we died. We were going to be neighbours for a long, long time. Much too long a time to pretend that each other didn't exist. Maybe now we could revert to what we had prior to the Games – a careful balance between complete indifference and dislike.

Instead of leaving like I had thought he would do, once he had obliged his mother, Gale sat down on one of the small arm chairs facing the couch. I set the glass aside on a small coffee table and wished that Vick would come back in, salvaging this awkward situation with his endearing chatter about school that day.

"Listen, Madge," Gale said, "Sorry about hitting you with the door. I hope that it doesn't hurt too bad."

"You were the one that hit me?" I asked, surprised that he had been coming to visit Haymitch.

"What were you doing there anyway?" Gale leaned back in the chair and ran a hand through his hair. I started to prepare an angry tirade about how it was none of his business what I was doing there but my rational, pacifist side won out.

"I came over to check up on him," I confessed, "I hadn't seen him in a while and to be honest I was starting to get worried." Gale nodded, his expression serious.

"Yeah," he said. I groaned audibly, but luckily considering my current state, Gale must've put it down to pain instead of embarrassment at his one word answers. Gale stood, watching me, and deciding that I was sick of his scrutiny, I sat up and attempted to compose myself.

"Mom said that you were meant to stay resting," he pointed out when I stood up and straightened my blouse, brushing the imaginary creases free.

"Well, are you going to tell tales?" I snapped back, wincing when I heard the bitterness and anger in my voice. Gale shook his head.

"Sorry," I said. It wasn't fair of me to take my anger over what had happened between us out on him when he was just trying to help.

"It's okay," he said. "I was being over-bearing." I snorted and Gale raised an eyebrow.

"Sometimes someone has to take charge or else everything gets completely out of order," he said defensively but I could tell that he didn't mind all that much that I'd insulted him. We both looked at each other for a minute, our discomfort and awkwardness temporarily forgotten if only for a moment. The spell broke when he looked away and I quickly followed suit.

"I guess I'd better go," I said. "Will you thank your mom for me?" Gale nodded and stood up as well.

"Mrs. Everdeen will want to examine you," Gale warned and I shrugged.

"I'm fine," I said tersely. I needed to get out of here quick. My head was beginning to ache and I just curl up in bed and feel miserable. "I'm sure she won't mind coming over to my house." Gale said nothing and I took that as acceptance

"I'll walk you back," he said, grabbing his coat from a hook by the front door. Exactly what I'd been afraid of.

"You don't have to do that," I said but he ignored me. I followed him dutifully towards the door and together we crossed the path that led towards my house. Gale hesitated for a moment when we came to my door.

"Thank your mother for me, okay?" I said and pushed the door open. I froze when I felt Gale's hand reach out and hold onto my fore arm.

"Can I come in for a minute?" he asked. "There's something we need to talk about." My mouth dried and I struggled for a minute as I tried to pry my tongue away from the roof of my mouth.

"We don't have anything to discuss Gale," I said, hoping that this would serve as a sufficient reminder of the ties that were now severed between us.

"I need to tell you about something. A recent development," he said and I knew immediately from the way his voice was both calm and forceful that whatever it was he had to say was important. Sighing, I pushed the door open further so that he could move past me and into the house.

His eyes travelled the circumference of my sitting room quickly, no doubt taking in the lack of material goods in the room. My house here in the Victor's Village, while as large as my parents, was sparsely decorated. I didn't see the point in putting stuff that I cared about into a place that I had won by killing a fellow tribute.

I walked past Gale and sat on the couch, shivering at the feel of the cold on my clothes pressing more firmly against my skin.

"I'll light the fire," Gale said as he grabbed a log and kindling that I had laid by the fire earlier in preparation for the night.

"Tell me, what it is that has made you decide that it is necessary to speak to me for the first time in months," I said, fully aware that my voice sounded as haughty as my words. Gale's movements by the fireplace froze momentarily before they started up again.

"President Snow came to see me," he said slowly as he stacked the kindling into the grate. My heart clenched.

"Snow?" I asked. This time Gale turned to look at me. He nodded. "But why? What did he want from you?"

"He says that there was never meant to be two Victors," he said.

"Obviously," I retorted, but then apologised, "Sorry. Continue."

"He said that there was an uproar in some of the Districts over the rule change. The Games are meant to signify the absolute power of the Capitol, not undermine their authority."

"But we didn't force them to change the rules," I reminded him. "They made that decision on their own."

"That doesn't matter," Gale said with a shake of his head. "What matters is that Snow believes that all this could have been prevented if only one of us had survived." I swallowed.

"And what does this mean for us?" Gale shrugged and struck a match before tossing it onto the pile of dry wood which caught almost straight away.

"I don't know necessarily, but it can't be good." The two of us sat in silence for a moment; Gale stoking the growing flames with the poker and I watching him carefully.

"I'm only telling you this because of what we have to do," he said finally after a few minutes had passed.

"What _do _we have to do?" I asked, suddenly wary. I hoped that he wasn't going to bring up some crazy plan which involved one or both of us dying for the greater good. I might not like him very much at the minute but the thought of him injured or worse still caused my stomach to ache.

"On the Victory Tour we'll have-" he broke off for a moment and cleared his throat. "We'll have to act like before." He turned to look at me properly for the first time since we had disembarked the train. He seemed to see me in that moment and knew the pain that this demand would cause me.

"Oh," I said. All other words failed me and I struggled with what to say next. Luckily I didn't have to think for long because Gale rose to his feet and brushed his hands together somewhat awkwardly to remove the wood shavings.

"I guess that I'll talk to you soon so we can, um," he searched for the word, "sort this out." I nodded dazedly and let him leave. When I heard the front door close I allowed myself to flop limply onto the couch. What was I going to do now?

_Hey guys. Sorry that there has been such a gap between updates. I was in the USA working for the summer and living in a two room apartment in a seedy, sea side motel wasn't exactly a great atmosphere for writing. Thanks for sticking with this story. I am overwhelmed by your reviews. Let me know what you are making of events so far. I promise that updates will go back to being weekly again now that I am back at University. :)_


	4. Chapter 4

"So, Rory said that you hit your head on Haymitch's door?" Mrs. Everdeen questioned as she set aside her tools, her work done.

"Yes, I banged it on the edge." I reached a hand up to carefully touch the neat row of stitches that marked my forehead. Mrs. Everdeen reached for my hand and nudged it gently away from her handiwork.

"Don't touch it. You don't want it to scar," she said and then sighed. "I guess it doesn't really matter either way. They will be arriving soon enough from the Capitol and they'll no doubt fix you up again."

"Thank you," I said and then pinched the bridge of my nose. After the Games had ended the Capitol had applied some sort of polish to our skin that had erased every mark and scar that we had accumulated over the course of our time in the arena. The physical scars may have been erased but I wished that they had done the same with the emotional ones.

I watched her as she packed her tools back into her bag. When I looked at her I couldn't help but be reminded of Katniss despite their obvious differences. Where Katniss was strong and confident her mother was weak and tentative. Every movement was small and shuffled, as if she was trying to take up as little space as possible. I knew her husband had died many years ago in the same fire that had taken Gale's father from him but she wasn't like Mrs. Hawthorne. She lacked the preservation skills the other woman possessed and seemed content to fade into the background and let her daughter handle the day to day affairs of the family. How did Katniss' sister feel about that?

I walked over to the mantel piece and opened up the small coin purse that lay there. Selecting two large gold pieces, much more than the usual going rate for stitches, I handed them to the mute Mrs. Everdeen.

"There's no need for that Madge," she said quietly as she shook her head. "I don't want any money. I was friends with your mother when we were younger so consider this a favour from an old friend." It was my turn to shake my head.

"No. Please take it. I've got more than enough." I realised my mistake as soon as I saw Mrs. Hawthorne's face colour red.

"We don't need charity Margaret," she said with more force than was usual for this soft spoken woman.

"I know that," I said quickly, "but please take payment where payment is due." I watched her mull over her options for a moment, even going so far as casting her eyes over the expanse of my living room. Eventually she took the coins that I offered her and carefully stashed them in a pocket of her skirt.

"Thank you," she said stiffly and I smiled wanly at her. "Now remember, call Hazelle at any sign of a headache or stiff neck." She looked genuinely worried about me and despite our little battle only moments before I found myself suddenly feeling quite fond of Katniss' mother. Her soft blonde hair reminded me of my mother.

Moments later the door closed behind her and a small flurry of snow flew in with the breeze causing a miniature snow storm to form in my hallway. I stared at it and sighed before turning my back on the mess and climbing the stairs towards bed. Tomorrow was another day and I would face my problems then.

Sleep did not come easy to me that night and no matter how much I tossed and turned I could not get comfortable. I had hoped that my head injury would have tired me out and my mind could have gotten a much needed reprieve from thinking about a certain fellow victor. Apparently the universe was against me and I was to be tortured with the clear mental image of Gale's concerned face hovering above me.

I rose early, eager to start the day and fill it with one thousand mind numbing tasks and chores to keep me sufficiently distracted. Making up my mind that today I would go into town and offer my help to my father at his offices. The offices at the Justice Centre were always busy and menial tasks like filing documents were often left to the wayside. He would appreciate my help.

Bundling up in my warm red coat and black hat, I opened the door to find the night's snowfall had been more severe than I would have imagined. Nevertheless, I locked the front door and headed towards Town. The thought of sitting in my house alone all day with nothing but my thoughts for distraction seemed like torture.

The streets were quieter than normal, but I was unsurprised given the snow and I only passed one or two people on the trip. By the time I reached the Justice building my nose felt like it had turned into a solid lump of ice and despite the fact that I had shoved my hands into my coat pockets I wondered about the possibility of frost bite.

The Justice Building resembled the Capitol than any other part of District 12, something I had never noticed or thought much about until I had returned. The drapes were made of a richer fabric than the old scraps of material that composed most of the curtains here. There was a carpet on the floor, a complete anomaly in District 12 where simple wooden floors were favoured. Even the art work that adorned the walls was a sign of the almighty power of the Capitol, the large portrait of President Snow in the lobby being the most ostentatious. I examined the portrait closely while I waited for my father to come down and meet me after the receptionist alerted him to my arrival.

Snow should have looked like a charming, dapper grandfather in his crisp white suit and rose in his lapel but there was something about the way he held himself that let you know that he was a person to be feared not loved. What must it be like to be respected out of fear rather than for you, yourself?

"Is everything alright, Madge?" my father asked, appearing from a corridor, his face pale and his brow furrowed. I shook my head. Why had he immediately thought something was wrong?

"I'm fine, Dad. I just figured that you might want some help in the office today. I was free." He sighed in relief and smiled shakily at me.

"We sure do, honey. You know that there is always filing to be done."

An hour later I sat on the floor of my father's office, sorting a huge pile of files into their different groups. The task was perfectly mind numbing and exactly what I needed after Gale's bombshell about the Victory Tour yesterday.

A phone rang on my father's desk and he answered it.

"Yes?" he said instead of a greeting. "Okay, I'll be right down." He stood up from the desk and informed me that he had to attend a meeting about the mines. I hoped for the Seam's sake that this wasn't about more pain cuts.

I looked over at my father's desk or, more precisely, his comfortable leather chair and decided that I had suffered enough time sitting on the floor and I might as well take advantage of the free space. Gathering up as many files as I could carry I made my way to the desk, sinking into the chair with a sigh.

The screen of my father's computer glowed in front of me and though I knew I shouldn't, I couldn't help but glance at the screen and read the message that was opened on it.

The message was from someone named Councillor Romero and it was with bated breath that I read the message.

_A decision has been made to increase the number of Peace Keepers in the Districts in the wake of the 74__th__ Hunger Games and prior to the Victory Tour. Reinforcements will arrive in your District two weeks from now. They will take over the law enforcement in the District._

Why would security need to be increased in District 12 of all Districts? Did they not know that the people here were so without hope that they couldn't revolt if they tried? Sure, the packages had been useful but they weren't enough to sustain a District like ours where food was already scarce.

And what about the other Districts? News rarely circulated between the Districts, it would be almost impossible for me to find out why these seemingly pointless measures were being taken. I moved the mouse of the keyboard to search for more information when it hit me.

Gale had said yesterday that the President had not been pleased that there had been two Victor's. What was he afraid of? We were just two people in Panem. Two people couldn't really change anything. Could it? Maybe it didn't matter that we were two people. Maybe it was the fact that our love had somehow defied the Capitol, even if it was only in a small way, and that had encouraged others to imitate what we had done. Was the fact that we had been willing to die together rather than succeed alone been that influential, that powerful? I shivered at the thought.

I searched through Dad's inbox but the rest of his emails seemed to be about minor changes in tax returns, wage cuts and inter departmental exchanges. I was about to give up my search for more information on the subject when I found a folder marked _Articles_. Clicking on it, without much faith about what sort of information it held. I saw file after file labelled simply by date. Clicking on a random one I gasped when I saw a large picture of Gale and I under the heading '_STAR CROSSED LOVERS OF DISTRICT TWELVE' _followed by an article depicting the great heartache that was about to befall us. I checked the date the article had been published: the day before we entered the games. We had been front page news before the games had even begun. As I scanned quickly through the rest of the articles I found they were much the same. Outrage and pity were too of the main emotions in the articles. It seemed that the Capitol's news outlets could be pretty biased, despite the influence of President Snow. The Capitol citizens had been heartbroken at the thought of one of us living without the other. Had they really been our saviours in the Games, when all along I had condemned them for sending us there in the first place?

My head hurt and I closed the folder and moved to sit back on the floor with the files that I had been sorting. My father had never been suspicious of me before but after I had come back from the Games he had been acting wary around me. Watching to see how I would react to what he said and no longer speaking as freely as he would have before.

Why had my father kept a folder with all these articles? I found it hard to believe that he was proud of me for falling head over heels for Gale and kept the articles as keepsakes. They had to have a purpose. I guess it was up to me to figure out what exactly that was.

_Thanks to all who stuck with me through my much longer than planned hiatus. College work, as well as an internship has kept me crazy busy over the past couple of months but since I've settled in now I feel I can devote time to this fic. I'm excited to be back in this world and with these characters. Let me know what you think and hopefully I'll get the next chapter up ASAP. _


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